Anyone Else?
by JustEight
Summary: New fighter Encke is worried that Keeler is not made for war. Keeler proves him wrong. If continued, Pre-Relationship.


A drabble I wrote at work and expanded upon. Just a little insight into how Keeler got to be the leader he is now. In my head and based on HM's statements, this takes place a year before Cain and Abel are paired.

* * *

Encke was… on edge.

Not for the reason he had suspected. Not because today was the day they were no longer recruits, but soldiers, fighters in the ongoing intergalactic war. Not because his life was a chip on the table, easily lost on a gamble in an instant.

Not because he wasn't a single entity anymore; he was half of a whole. He wasn't even a chip, he was a blue side, melded to a coordinating white. This wasn't poker, he couldn't be won back—this was chance, and one wrong flip, turn of the dial, a misplaced shot, it was over.

He wasn't worried about that.

The task names didn't roll of the tongue like he'd hoped: Encke and Keeler. They seemed out of place in a ship full of names like Fenrir and Aegir, Caliban and Calisto. He supposed he could be a comet—strong, silent, whisking by, grazing, killing, leaving but continuing on his path.

But Keeler…

He knew navigators were, frankly, squishy. They were proper, apparently educated; they could fly a ship, that's all he cared about, but most certainly were not made for combat.

He just hadn't expected his to be so… feminine. Standing in front of their Captain's desk, new identities spilling over the desk in crisp paperwork, dark eyes kept side glancing the thin frame next to him. He looked like a twig- like he'd snap in an instant. Even for a Navigator, Keeler looked like a woman.

Hence, he was nervous. Encke knew how ships operated—things happened in dark corners. The land of fighters was a power struggle and sometimes steam needed to be let loose and there was the tendency to release it into Navigators; not necessarily your own, either.

Besides a friendly greeting here and there, Encke and Keeler didn't talk—they worked, consulted, dismissed, never talked. As long as they worked together, it didn't really matter to Encke, but as the week progressed, more and more stares fell upon them as Keeler's presence was noticed. At least amongst the Navigators, he appeared an instant leader, which only singled him out to the Fighters; a symbol for the others, something to tarnish, something to destroy.

Encke started leaving for his shifts earlier so that he could detour, tailing Keeler a bit to make sure he made it place to place safely. Fellow Fighters made off hand comments at first, how pretty his Nav was, but soon learned to keep it to themselves as Encke's glares got darker.

Lo and behold, by the end of week one, Keeler was cornered.

Instinct had tugged on his shoulders that morning, willing him out into the corridor, to land a solid fist into Anthe's face, yet he remained rooted to his place, just out of sight. The thick hand on Keeler's arm, halting the Navigator in his place, Encke had thought the Navigator would run, scream, ask for some form of help from passerbys—

But be remained steeled, a leveled gaze square on one of the three clearly attempting to talk him up. Encke was curious. He'd help in a moment, should it get dangerous, but that gaze… he'd never seen someone so small make such a face at a larger, clearly stronger opponent.

He couldn't hear the words, but Keeler's face remained stony, the other Fighters prodding at him. It made Encke's blood boil beneath his skin, bubbling up and down his arms and neck. Touching his Navigator…

It was quick, a hand shot up, gnarling itself in the braid, tugging Keeler's back to his chest. Encke sucked a breath, taking a step forward.

He swore, he only blinked once, but by the time he could see again, Keeler was ducking and twisting, back arching as he swung around, facing the Fighter, a hand whipping out with deadly precision, pulling strength from his momentum, slamming to a halt against Anthe's neck.

He was taller, larger, more built, and he crumpled in an instant after the blow. Encke's breath hitched in this throat, not the one hit, but in shock non-the-less. Keeler, on the other hand, was completely unfazed, simply looking between the remaining men.

Encke couldn't remember the new task name, but the remembered his face. The look of absolute rage was typical, as was the heavy fist thrown at Keeler's jaw.

Like a snake, Keeler's thin arm struck out again, deflecting the punch, latching pale fingers about his assailant's wrist. It was like a dance; Keeler's foot slid back, rocking his and the Fighter's weight together, only Keeler had a better base. Had the Fighter considered Keeler a threat maybe he would have been able to do something, Encke's mind relayed several methods to break the hold and take the Navigator down, but clearly the thought never crossed his mind.

Keeler's free hand fisted, crushing down on the Fighter's forearm, taking advantage of the mishandled momentum to slam the larger body into the floor. Throwing all his weight into his knee, Keeler landed himself squarely in the middle of the Fighter's back, yanking back hard on the man's arm.

A strangled cry escaped the Fighter as muscles were stretched far beyond their capacity. The last man standing looked to make a move, but one glare shot from Keeler and he stayed his space. By now, people had stopped, watching as a Navigator took down not one but two Fighters.

"Anyone else?" Keeler called, but didn't break his gaze from the last Fighter. No one made a move, not even the man on the floor, hoping stillness and silence would earn his freedom, sans a broken arm. Seemingly satisfied, with one last tug on the limb, he stood, releasing the arm.

Keeler's face morphed to something akin to mild annoyance as he pulled his braid over his shoulder, undoing the end half to fix the knots Anthe had created. The crowd around stood in silence as the Navigator redid his hair, like the rest of the world had faded out.

Flipping the braid back over his shoulder to its rightful position, Keeler stepped over the Fighter, a dismissive hand brushing off the blazer of his uniform before parting the black and white sea, heading to the hanger bay for morning diagnostics—directly past Encke.

The smirk sent his way stuck the breath to back of Encke's throat, forcing him to swallow. Keeler didn't stop walking and Encke didn't let himself be outwardly fazed. He did pick up the Navigator's stride, walking just behind his right. He'd have to show Keeler his place eventually, as no doubt other Fighters will be giving him shit for having a rebellious Nav, but for now, he was a little proud.

At least his Navigator wasn't squishy. Maybe he could work with this.


End file.
